


Aftermath, or Whiskey and Stars

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-it, Episode Related, Family, Feelings, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Episode: s09e12 Ka Hauli O Ka Mea Hewa 'ole He Nalowale Koke, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 15:19:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17727704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: After the party, Danny asks Steve to stay....They’re left standing there in that too empty house, and it hurts Steve’s heart, so he tries for some hopeful, supportive words. Something he thinks might be what Danny wants to hear.“That was a nice moment you had with Rachel. So the osso buco was a success?”And maybe he’s judged it completely wrong, because Steve could almost swear it looks like Danny wants to punch him, but instead he steps closer and says:“Shut up. Just shut up and kiss me.”





	Aftermath, or Whiskey and Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, wow. This story. Um. It probably didn’t take as long as it feels like it did, but. It took a lot. I *hope* it comes near to what I wanted it to be.... I’m not sure it does, but, it’s a tough topic, and I hope I got at least some of what I wanted to get at with it.
> 
> **Please note:** A quick warning in case you’re reading this without having seen the episode (in which Grace is in a horrible car accident and is badly hurt). This story deals with Danny and Steve’s reactions and emotions. It’s not fun and light, BUT it’s not super dark and grim either, and there is (always) a happy/promising/hopeful ending. Just... be aware of any sensitivities you have in those areas, and read accordingly. 
> 
> **A note about warnings:** I had been using “Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings” when I wanted to warn for content not covered by the AO3 warnings. But evidently that is not technically correct, so I will no longer be doing that. I will continue to note content in tags and/or author notes, as I have been doing. _Please be sure to read tags and notes if you are concerned about possible triggers._

“Stay. Please.”

The last of the guests have filtered out. Steve’s about to leave and let Danny have some time with Grace and Rachel before the start of a week he knows will have them still off school and work and Danny back at Five-0. Which, for the record, Steve feels bad about, but he  _had_  tried to get Danny to take the week off as well.

He’d failed. Obviously.

Danny had given him a fairly intense rant, about needing to get back to feeling productive, after a week spent sitting by Grace’s side in the hospital. That he needs to get back to doing what he does best—what makes him feel himself. Which Steve understands. But he worries that Danny’s pushing it. That he hasn’t processed the accident yet, is still in some sense in shock. He’s spent most of the past week in the hospital with Rachel and Grace, and Steve’s pretty sure Danny’s been holding it together for them. He’s been home some, so maybe he’s done some not-for-public-consumption crying and yelling. But Steve isn’t willing to bet on that.

So he’d tried to convince Danny that being a loving and supportive dad to Grace while she heals is high on that list, as is taking care of _himself_. But that only earned him a fairly advanced level glare, an eye roll, and some grumbled swear words. So he’d backed down. Said  _of course_  he would be thrilled to have him back at work. As long as he’s sure he’s ready.

But now Danny’s asking him to stay, and something in his tone feels like a warning to Steve, and Danny’s squeezing his hand a little too tightly, as though he’ll restrain him physically if he needs to, if Steve tries to leave. But of course Steve’s going to stay. He doesn’t think he could leave, even if he had to, not when Danny is looking at him like that. He couldn’t say no to anything Danny wanted right now.

Still, he tries to fade into the background, let the family have their moment. But they seem to not want to let him. And okay, maybe that’s a little soothing to his worn out heart. Because, yeah, it’s been hard watching all this from the outside. Being there and being part of it, but not _quite_. Not being as much of a part of it as Steve would like.

When Danny had told Steve about the slideshow Rachel made for Grace for her high school graduation party, told him that he was in more of the photos than Danny was, Steve had managed to not cry about that. He’d deflected in his usual way—preening a bit, offering to host Grace’s graduation party (which he was sincere about, by the way, he’d already been thinking about offering, and had secretly been hoping Danny would ask). But he’d managed not to  _cry_. 

Until, that is, he made it home that night.

Where he poured himself a too-big glass of whiskey and went to sit out on the upstairs lanai. To stare at the stars, and drink, and feel very, very alone in this world. 

So maybe he’s wishing he was a little more _officially_ part of the family.

You blame him?

It’s possible the whiskey and stars thing has become too much of a ritual with him since then. Not that it helps. Actually, he thinks probably it’s making it worse, spending regular time sulking over what he doesn’t have. But sometimes making it worse makes it feel better. You know, in the category of Really Healthy Coping Mechanisms. 

Steve’s had worse.

But right now, Charlie’s hugging him, and Steve’s hugging probably a little too tightly back, and in all honesty it helps. It helps a lot, actually. Because he noticed, Steve did, how Charlie latched on to Adam. And Steve’s not enough of an ass (despite what Danny likes to say) to begrudge the man such affection. He’s actually really glad. Because he knows Adam had been hoping Kono was pregnant. He knows that had hurt Adam more than he’s admitted. So Steve’s been happy to watch Adam bond with Charlie. But he  _has_  been just the tiniest bit envious. There’s this hint of a voice that has been wanting to whisper:  _Hey, Charlie’s mine_. 

And that’s the problem right there. Because he’s not.

And neither is Grace.

And maybe Steve wishes she was.

Perfect timing as always, Grace grabs hold of his hand. And it feels like a sweet echo of what Danny’s just done, and his heart thuds thickly in his chest. Her eyes are still so wounded. And yet there’s a fire in them that feels familiar, and okay he admits it, he sees what Danny means. Maybe there  _is_  a little bit of Steve in Grace somehow. And that means so much to him it  _hurts_.

She knows what he did, catching the guy who ran her off the road. And he doesn’t mean what Danny told her, because he didn’t tell Danny the whole story—didn’t tell him about the seatbelt thing, the driving too fast, because Danny would have yelled at him for that. But Steve thinks Grace somehow just  _knows_. And he thinks, more to the point, she’d known he would. Maybe she’d thought it as she lay there in the wreckage waiting for the ambulance. Maybe she knew it even as she hit that bend before she lost control. Maybe it helped get her through all of it. Knowing Uncle Steve would get the guy who’d done this. Maybe she’ll tell him that one day. Maybe he’ll ask.

But it’s not what she’s thinking right now. He can see that in her eyes. She’s after something. Something she thinks only Steve can do. And he’s damn well going to do whatever it is. God, he’d do anything for her. Anything. Everything. In a heartbeat.

“Look out for him, will you?” She asks, looking keenly into his eyes, and he has this sudden fear that his reaction gives everything away—his entire heart, he’s sure is written on his face, in his eyes. Surely she can see it? But she doesn’t react as though she’s noticed anything, maybe she’s too intent on her task. “He’s going to be more likely to do something dumb right now, you know that. Just... watch for it. Please.”

Her eyes are not at all like Danny’s—dark where his are light. But it doesn’t matter. Steve feels as though they are a reflection of her dad’s. And as he nods, says he will, of course he will, he always does... it feels so much like he’s saying it to Danny. It feels like a promise he’s wanted to make for a very long time. And he’d rather make it to Danny of course, but making it to Grace feels just as important right now.

She smiles sweetly, puts her hand on his arm, and he wants to wrap her up in bubble wrap, keep her safe. Keep her from ever being hurt again. And he knows he can’t. As she moves away, he can feel the piece of his heart that moves with her. It’s agony. How do people do this? Let their hearts live outside of their bodies? Steve thinks it would kill him.

He’s still reeling from the intensity of that when Rachel pulls him into a tight hug. And, okay, talk about mixed feelings. It’s been impossible  _not_  to be sympathetic towards her with all of this. But there will always be a part of Steve that cannot forgive her for what she did to Danny over Charlie. Danny seems as though he’s completely forgotten... and that sits heavily on Steve’s heart. Steve just couldn’t ever let it go.

Maybe it makes him a bad person.

He’s not really sure he cares.  

But right now, even Rachel doesn’t seem willing to let him go. “Thank you,” she whispers, her breath soft against his neck. She pulls back, holds on to his arms as she looks into his eyes. They’re more like Grace’s than Danny’s are, color wise. But they’re not as open, not as easy for him to read. Maybe that’s because he doesn’t feel he could ever trust her. “Thank you for being there for Danny.” She swallows, tries to smile. “And for getting the guy who....” 

She doesn’t even try to finish the sentence, and he stumbles over it, but tries to fill the silence with awkward words he hopes are at least vaguely reassuring. He’s not sure they are, but she seems grateful just the same.

Eventually Rachel and the kids leave. And he’s left standing there in that too empty house, next to a Danny who’s looking somewhere between relieved and heartbroken. And it hurts Steve’s heart in fourteen different ways, and he’s not sure at all how to handle it, not sure what Danny’s wanting, really not sure why he asked him to stay. And it’s not his strong suit, not at all. But maybe that doesn’t matter right now, and Danny needs _something_ from him, that much is clear. So he tries for some hopeful, supportive words. Something he thinks might be what Danny wants to hear.

“That was a nice moment you had with Rachel. So the osso buco was a success?”

And maybe he’s judged it completely wrong, because Danny flinches, and for a second, Steve could almost swear it looks like Danny wants to punch him.

Instead he steps close, pressing Steve up against the wall.

“Shut up. Just shut up and kiss me.”

And it’s... shit, it’s completely out of left field. Unless Steve’s been teleported to some alternate dimension or something? But it’s not like Steve hasn’t wanted to kiss Danny... oh for about nine years or so. And he’s not one to deny Danny what he wants or needs, so he takes a breath that’s shakier than he’d like, and he leans in... and he gives Danny a tentative kiss on the lips. And Danny fucking pinches him.

“Like you fucking mean it, Steven.”

And Danny doesn’t have to say that twice. Steve flips them around so it’s Danny up against the wall, and it’s forceful and it’s claiming and it’s less than half of what Steve wants it to be, because those are fighting words Danny’s used, but Steve’s not prepared to believe it just yet, so yeah. He holds back.

Danny grunts, struggles in Steve’s arms, pushing against him. And there’s that sense again that Danny wants to punch him, and Steve almost wishes he would.

“Harder,” Danny says instead, and he bites Steve’s lip, and  _alright if that’s how you’re gonna play this_....

Steve grabs Danny by the backs of his arms, and he lifts him, shoving his thigh roughly underneath, and presses him harder into the wall, crushing their mouths together. And the copper tang of blood heightens his senses, or maybe that’s Danny, who’s so tightly wound it’s like he could lash out at any moment. But then—and Steve’s not sure what does it, what shifts it, but Danny groans, and collapses against Steve, and it’s like the tension, the hurt, the fear, the worry, of the past week begins to bleed out of him.

And he starts, instead, to cry.

And fuck if that isn’t the most disorienting transition.

Steve stumbles, catching Danny against his chest, and he wants to get them to the sofa, but Danny isn’t exactly helping right now, so they just slide down onto the floor. And it’s hard, and the wall’s not soft either, but maybe that’s somehow fitting.

Danny cries like Steve’s never seen before. It’s as though he’s replaying every moment of the last horrifying week, through his tears. And they stutter and subside, only to restart with a deeper edge of grief and fear and hurt and frustration, and so many other emotions Steve thinks he misses. But he’s trying, trying to catch them all, because it seems important. Danny’s entrusting this to him, sharing this with him... and that’s when Steve notices he’s crying as well. Not over his own pain. He’s spent his nights under the stars with that too-big glass of whiskey dwelling on his own injuries. His tears now are for Danny. For what this has done to Danny. For Danny’s hurt, his pain, his fear. And his guilt. Because Steve hasn’t worked out yet how, but he’s sensed it. Danny blames himself.

Which, on the one hand, is an easy guess. Because Danny always blames himself. For things he couldn’t possibly be responsible for. And yes, that’s fucking ironic and Steve knows it, you really don’t have to point it out to him. So maybe he’s crying a little bit for them both. For the guilt and the blame.

Gradually, Danny starts to talk. And it’s not very coherent at first, but it starts to become more and more clear as he gets into it, as he builds up that infamous Danny steam. And the words hurt Steve, but there’s comfort in them nonetheless, because they’re Danny. And anything  _Danny_  is going to feel like a balm to Steve right now. It just is.

He’s talking about Rachel. That much is immediately clear. It’s less than clear what the point of it is, and maybe that’s mostly because it’s always going to be a topic that terrifies Steve. But as Danny slows, his meaning emerges. 

“She’s the mother of my child... the mother of my child who almost died. Okay? We... that could have torn us apart but it didn’t, it didn’t. It brought us closer together. But she’s still Rachel, you know? Her default is always going to be that she lies to me and that she makes the wrong choices and that she... she hurts me—with or without meaning to—I don’t know and  _I don’t care which,_ it still hurts. But we got through it and she... she helped me get through it, alright? And I’m grateful.”

He breathes, and it’s so weighted, so heavy, and like he’s releasing so much pain with the breath, Steve swears he can feel it against his skin.

“So, I needed this to end on a note that was a happy memory. But Jesus, Steven you know there aren’t many of those between her and me. That dish is one. So yeah, we made it through the worst day of my life and the hard hard days that followed and we didn’t crumble, and I made the oso buco to thank her for that.”

He sighs. And it’s a transition, like his whole body, his whole energy, just _shifts_. And his eyes finally meet Steve’s, and there’s something in them Steve’s never seen before. It’s fierce—but he’s seen Danny look so fierce it’s terrified him. This is _layered_ somehow. Like something that’s been buried fathoms deep is coming to the surface. It’s almost as though he can see the waves parting in Danny’s eyes, can see that something important is about to emerge. And yeah, it gives him the fucking chills.

“But now I need more than that,” Danny says, voice swelling with resolve. “I  _deserve_  more than that. I don’t want to just be happy that things didn’t turn into a shitstorm.”

His tone gives away the fact he knows he’s been happy with far less before. And that sense of something coming prickles against Steve’s skin like the warning of an electric storm at sea, and he takes a breath without realizing he’s done it, because it’s like he needs to respond, needs to say something... but Danny stops him, grabbing both Steve’s hands in his, and holding them near Steve’s chest, as though he needs Steve that little bit further away right now. 

“And before you say it, no I’m not just being over emotional because you caught the guy. I knew you would and thank you. But I know you. You didn’t do that for me. And you didn’t even do it for Grace. You did it for  _you_. And I love you for that. But now you’re going to do something for me. And, more importantly, something for  _Grace_.” 

He takes a breath that feels to Steve like it takes so much effort he’s not sure Danny will finish it. But he does. And he holds Steve’s hands more tightly in his, still holding him away. 

“You’re going to teach Grace to drive.”

And this time Steve knows he needs to say something because they’ve been down this road before, dammit. And this is not something they need to relive. But again, Danny cuts him off, pushing their hands, held tightly together, against Steve’s chest  _hard_. So hard, till he falls back against the wall. And it’s almost like Danny wants to hurt Steve—and if Steve thought for just one second it would help, he’d ask him to do it. But it won’t. So he doesn’t fight back. But he isn’t fast enough to stop the sound of protest that escapes his lips.

“No, listen to me, because yes, Steven, I remember you offered, and yes, I remember what I said, and I take it all back, because if you’d taught her instead of me this would never have happened, because she’d have known what to do in that situation, whereas I just told her not to drive like that—which obviously, in the areas where she’s more yours than mine, was never going to work.”

It’s one sentence, yes. One fucking unbelievably painful sentence. And god, Steve would give anything for that not to be what Danny wanted. Because  _this_... this is why Danny blames himself. And Steve knows he should have seen that coming. Should have known it was buried in there somewhere. He hates himself for not having seen it before it hit.

But there’s that one line.  _Where she’s more yours than mine_. And maybe Steve’s being an ass for wanting to belong more. Because maybe this is its own kind of wonderful and maybe he just needs to shut up and take it and appreciate it for what it is and be grateful. Maybe a piece of his heart swells a little, maybe it hurts a little less. At least for a moment.

And then he’s back to realizing the blame that Danny’s been heaping on himself this whole week. In silence. Alone. And he doesn’t know what he can do to stop that. He wishes he did, wishes there was some kind of guidebook for this. But there’s not, and the thing is, Steve may not be great with emotions, may not have the best bedside manner, may not be the most astute at the more subtle, sensitive, human things. 

But you know what he does have? A fucking amazing sense of intuition and knowing when to _move_. And he’s flooded with it now. Just absolute certainty. Total bodily knowing. And okay, maybe some of that’s hormones. And some of it is nine pent up years of longing. And some of it is radiating off his long-time partner and best friend and okay, okay, not-so-secret crush.

So he grabs Danny in his arms and lifts him, surprisingly easily, into his lap, and mutters “Anything you want, Danno,” and kisses him like he means it, like he means everything by it.

It’s not a fighting kiss. It’s a promising kiss. It’s almost like the kiss Steve’s imagined he’d give someone in  _that_  moment. That moment of making the most important promise. The one he’s long since given up ever making. He makes it now. And it’s only in his head, and probably he’s the one being overly emotional now, no doubt he is. But he knows he won’t regret it. Could never regret  _this_.

And Danny whimpers into his mouth, and maybe he senses it? Probably not, probably he’s far too swept up in his own emotions, but he’s certainly on board with the kiss. Enough so that Steve almost thinks he could dare move this somewhere more comfortable. But he’s not bold enough to take that chance, so he carries on where they are, and when Danny’s hands slide under his shirt, it’s not because of the cold wall that he shivers.

“Get this  _off_...” Danny breaks the kiss to tug Steve’s shirt up over his head, and when he gets his hands on Steve’s bare chest, he whimpers again. “Need you.” He leans forward and captures Steve’s lip with his teeth. “Need you  _so bad_.”

And in one split second Steve calculates what he’d need to do to get Danny up and over his shoulder and carry him to bed and fuck him till they’re both completely senseless.

And in the next split second Steve knows that would be utterly, completely, the wrong thing to do.

So he pulls back and opens his eyes and he breathes. “Hey, buddy. Me too, okay? God, me too. But not like this. Okay? Not like this.” And the way Danny deflates, Steve knows Danny knows it too. He lifts Danny’s chin with a finger and tries to smile. “Come back to mine? Leave this mess. We’ll clean it later. But let’s get out of here and get some air, and we can talk.”

Danny huffs out a rough, bitter laugh. “ _Talk_.... Yeah, okay. Just... don’t put that shirt back on.” And he stands, shakily, and tosses the shirt in Steve’s lap, then heads to his room, and if Steve hopes he’s packing an overnight bag, well. You can’t blame him.

He listens, for sounds of packing, and when he doesn’t hear any (and he knows Danny isn’t a quiet packer, he’s not a quiet do-anything-er) he gets up and follows him to his room. Which is an absolute mess. And that shouldn’t surprise Steve. He’s seen what Danny can be like, in terms of taking care of a house, when no one else is around. When he thinks no one will see. There are clothes everywhere—what had he called it? His  _intricate pile system_? Well, now just like then, it looks to Steve more like a  _simple mess_. And maybe he’s reading too much into it, but he suspects that a substantial amount of rage and hurt and fear and frustration went into the creation of this particular mess.

Danny’s sitting on the bed which is also a mess, and he’s staring at the wall.

Steve kneels at his feet, takes a hold of his hand. “Hey, buddy. Want me to help?”

Danny looks down at Steve and smiles, but it’s one of those pained, not-at-all-happy smiles. And he says “There’s nothing clean” as though it says absolutely everything about the past week that needs to be said.

Steve nods. “Okay. That’s okay. We’ll wash stuff at my place. I’ll just throw some stuff in your bag....”

And he gets up and he carefully starts to tidy up the worst of the mess, only as much as he can make it look like he’s simply picking some clothes to pack. Because he has a feeling the mess is symbolic, and he doesn’t want to upset the cart anymore than he needs to. 

He thinks Danny’s grateful, or maybe he’s just too out of it to care, but he lets Steve pack, and he soon gets what seems like enough for a couple days at least, then throws in Danny’s toothbrush, hair products, and some sleep clothes, and he gets Danny up and out the door as quickly as he can.

And he’s instantly glad he did, because he was right, getting out of the house was the right move. As soon as Danny’s in the truck, the cloud that had settled on his shoulders starts to lift. He sits back, leans against the window, gazes out silently. He’s nowhere near himself, but some of the not-him-ness starts to leak off him. And Steve finds himself thinking maybe he should drive Danny in the truck more often, because he never looks this relaxed in the Camaro. 

He thinks about stopping at the store on the way home, because he knows he’s short on food, but he worries that would be a mistake, would draw too much attention to the fact that he’s basically planning on kidnapping Danny for the week. So he decides he can get Nahele to grab some stuff for them. He’s done that before, run errands for Steve. Because it’s not always easy to keep a kitchen stocked when you start your days so often at the most insane hours and tend to leave work covered in blood.

When they get to the house, Steve immediately gets Danny’s laundry going, then grabs them both beers, and drags Danny down to their chairs on the beach. It’s a time tested tactic. They can be crabby, they can be exhausted, they can be livid with each other... but that spot on Steve’s little patch of beach always seems to make things better. And of course it’s different today. But Danny does seem soothed just the same, the tension in his body easing as he stretches out, letting his bare feet dig deeply into the sand as though it’s grounding him. And maybe the salt air will help cleanse some of the hospital off of Danny’s skin. Maybe the waves can wash some of the fear and pain out of his heart.

Steve’s felt that before. How sitting by the ocean can be healing. Just recently, he’s felt it, actually. And he could probably do with a good dose himself right now. So he stretches out like Danny just has, and he lets the sound of the waves lull him into an almost meditative state, lets his mind _drift_. 

Only thing is. His mind doesn’t seem to want to be anywhere other than on Danny. And he’s not really in a fighting mood, so he lets it. Lets his mind rest on Danny. On Danny, here at his side.  _Where he belongs_ , a voice suggests. And Steve feels himself smiling, lets himself sigh. Settles even more into his chair, legs resting against the sand, beer still cool in his hand. This is all he really needs, right here, just like this. Danny, the ocean, the sun, and a beer. Can’t get much better than that. 

_Although_ , reminds that voice,  _the kissing was really great_.

And it was. Oh god, it was. It was really fantastic. Hot and desperate and needy. So needy. Like Danny needs Steve as much as Steve has needed him, wanted him, longed for him.... And he feels it bubbling away in his bloodstream—that need, meeting its match at last. But there’s an almost hypnotic quality to it as well. Knowing it’s there, sort of underneath everything now. Ready to reignite at the slightest spark, if it’s applied  _just right_. 

Now it’s not an “if,” it’s a “when,” and that’s a heady and incredible feeling that makes Steve’s nerves sing in anticipation. But it also keeps him in check. Kind of like that patience that comes when you know danger is imminent. Steve’s well versed in that one. And this feels a lot like it. So he knows... he can wait. And maybe it makes him look smug, or self satisfied, or something. Because he gradually becomes aware that Danny’s chuckling amusedly at him.

“You look like the cat that got the canary, babe, you know that?”

Steve cracks one eye open, looks over at Danny, who is eyeing him so intently he swears he can feel it humming along his skin. He feels an eyebrow go up, and he doesn’t mean to play coy, it just kind of happens. But it turns Danny’s chuckle into a full on laugh, and  _shit but that’s the best sound he’s heard in a week_ , and it fills his heart with the sweetest sensation.

“Maybe I have,” he says, closing his eye and turning back towards the sea. “Maybe I have.”

It’s sometime later (and it’s getting cool and windy so the sun must be heading down), Steve senses Danny’s standing in front of him—he can tell, can read the energy streaming off him. And sure enough, he opens his eyes, and the heat from Danny’s expression sears itself on his skin, and he’s not even sure how it happens, but he’s on his feet, and he’s swept Danny into his arms, and he carries him up towards the house.

“You have watched  _An Officer and a Gentleman_  entirely too many times,” Danny says, and Steve can’t see from his position, but he knows. Danny’s eyes are rolling.

“Shut up, you love it.”

“I’m not really sure that I do, but I’ll put up with it if you’re planning on taking me to your bed.”

“How about I take you to the lanai and you walk up the stairs yourself?”

“Ohh, that is so romantic, wow.”

They’re only half way up the lawn, but Steve drops Danny right fucking there because he deserves it for that sass, and he shoves him to the ground, falling on top of him so he can’t move, and he growls.

“Maybe  _romantic_  is not how I’m feeling right now.” 

And it was totally the right move if the shudder that convulses through Danny is any indication.

He wants to rip Danny’s shirt off him. Feel those buttons pop, feel the power, the claiming—taking by force what he’s wanted for so fucking long. But the truth is, he’s a little afraid of Danny yelling at him about ruining his shirt. So he doesn’t. But he does think about asking, sometime, if Danny would let him... because he really wants to do that. He satisfies himself with a bite at Danny’s neck, which is also a Right Choice, because when Danny pushes up against him, he feels Danny’s hardness.

“Not on the lawn, you jackass.” And Danny shoves Steve off him, stands, and heads towards the house. “Bed. Now.”

And, ohhh, yeah, okay.  _This works too_. Steve can’t disguise his own shudder at Danny’s pissy, bossy, demanding tone. He doesn’t  _want_  to. He wants Danny to know it. But Danny’s not looking, so he’ll have to make sure he lets him know some other way.

Fortunately Danny gives him another chance, because by the time Steve makes it upstairs to the bedroom, Danny’s got his shirt half unbuttoned. But when he sees Steve in the doorway he just freezes. 

“Shit, babe. You really do like the cat with the bird.” And he goes almost—Steve almost wants to call it weak in the knees, he just kind of  _dips_ , and it’s a very Danny gesture somehow, it’s just never been applied to Steve in quite this context before, and it makes his blood surge. It’s that pause, Steve uses it to press forward, to finish with Danny’s buttons—carefully for now, though he growls something under his breath about how they always look like they’re about to pop anyway, and the look Danny gives him. 

_Oh my god_.

“You fucking do it on purpose.”

Danny’s eyes are honest to goodness  _twinkling_. 

“You do! How do you even manage that? Purposely find shirts that almost don’t fit? That must take a lot of effort. Keeping them right. On. That. Line.” With each word he pushes Danny towards the bed, and when his legs are backed firmly up against the mattress, Steve gives one last push, landing in the same move himself. Right on top of Danny.

“ _It’s worth it_ ,” Danny squeezes out, from underneath Steve’s chest, grin somewhere between pleased with himself and a little too turned on to bother.

It’s made Danny pliant. His brassy, bossy, forceful edge softened by Steve’s realization and Danny’s own delight at being caught out. And it feels a little bit like a game. Maybe dangerously so, and maybe that should be a warning to Steve. But it also feels like a challenge. And he’s competitive as it is, and Danny brings it out even more, maybe a little too much. But he’s wanting, and Danny’s clearly willing. And they’ve held back from this for  _far too long_.

Still, he vacillates between taking his time and pushing forward. Nipping at Danny’s collar bone, licking down his chest. Stopping before he goes too far. Making Danny squirm and mutter. Something about going  _too fast in cars_ and can’t he _hurry it up already_. And Steve’s wanted this for longer than he can remember, but he doesn’t know how long  _Danny_  has. And it’s holding him back.

Ordinarily Steve has no problem being considered a mistake. He always makes it good for his partner, and if it’s later a regret, at least it’s a pleasurable one. But he has  _no_  intention of being something Danny regrets. And Danny’s words are rough and they’re certain and they’re aggressive. But Steve’s still reading something in Danny’s body that’s not one hundred percent on board. And he could never be okay with that. So he keeps stopping before he goes too far. And it’s not much longer before he’s glad he has, because Danny pushes up against Steve, trying to take control, and when Steve holds him, stills him, Danny just crumbles. And fortunately, Steve knows fucking well how that feels. 

“ _Hey_. Buddy. Come here. Just...  _come here_.” And he sits up, lets Danny up. Wraps Danny tightly in his arms like he’d wanted to protect Grace. Like he can somehow shield him from the pain with his body. Which he knows he can’t, and doesn’t that break his heart fourteen times a fucking day.

But there is something he can do. Something he’s been doing himself. Every night. For the past horrible, horrible week.

So he reluctantly releases Danny, pushes himself up off the bed pulling Danny with him, tugging him to standing. Then he grabs the bottle of whiskey and the glass that he’s kept on the bottom shelf of his bedside table. He slides his arm around Danny. Possessively. Territorially. Just like he’s done for nine years, but now with something starting to approach the meaning he’s wished it had these past years. Nearly a decade.  _Nearly a goddamn decade_. How has it taken this long? How has he been this fucking unwilling to, what? Admit it? Push it? Ask for it? Beg?

There’s no answer for that of course. None that won’t hurt them both far more than it’s worth.

He walks them out to the lanai. “Sit,” is all he says. And when Danny hesitates, he gently presses Danny into the wicker seat that’s been his standard seat for these more-than-nine-years. Then he hands him a glass of the peaty, smoky, earthy, amber colored drink. The stuff that feels connected to Steve’s ancestors—not the ones that lived on  _this_  island. The ones who lived on that other island. The one in waters far cooler, far more treacherous. Far removed from the warmth of this tropical isle. 

Steve sits, not in his usual chair next to Danny, but on the other side of the table. He needs the distance right now. Needs to be further away from Danny’s heated glare, his fierce look, his desire—for revenge, for sex, as though the two are somehow connected. Because both burn. Just like they’re burning onto Steve’s skin, into his soul, from Danny’s bleary and tear-stained eyes.

The taste of the whiskey clears some of it. That fire. The malty syrupyness starts to douse the flame enough for Danny to be able to see past it. Like Steve could, those nights of whiskey and hurt and tears and stars. And as Danny starts to see clearly... he sees  _right through Steve_. 

As he always does. 

“You’ve been doing this,” he says. Without a hint of question in his tone. “Out here, like this. Every night, since Grace....” 

Of course Danny knows. Steve saw it coming—didn’t  _need_  to see it coming. Because he knew that Danny would see, clear as day. Because Steve can’t hide anything from Danny. And sometimes. Sometimes he damn well wishes he  _could_.

“Yeah,” Steve admits, not willing to say more. Not able to. Danny just looks. And Steve sort of... shrugs.

“Did it help?” Danny’s tone has an edge to it that’s not  _hope_ , but it’s something close, and the breath Steve huffs out almost burns with bitterness.  _He can’t tell him_. Can’t confess that  _Yeah, because letting it hurt more feels good_. Because Danny will hate that, and Danny will feel guilty for it. And Steve can’t do that.... But he  _can_  maybe admit part of it. 

“Not enough. But yeah. I guess. In some way.”

“ _How_?”

Steve sighs. What was that about him not being able to deny Danny anything right now? It’s evidently more true than he’d like. So he pauses. Looks for the words that will make it make sense. “By giving me time to allow how much it hurts, I think. Time not trying to hold it together. To not be seen, not think about how it looks, whatever my reactions are.” He looks up at Danny, and he can’t imagine Danny won’t see it all in his eyes. “Time to just _be_.”

It takes something from Steve, saying all that. But he willingly gives it to Danny. And Danny knows it cost him. Knows exactly what it means. He acknowledges it with a nod, and offers his own confession as compensation.

“I got stuck. With that face plastered on. The one that admits fear, that allows pain... but nothing more. Then at home—when Rachel made me go home to sleep and shower, once we knew Grace was safe. I....” He looks down at his glass. “I wanted to break things. Wanted to hurt things. Ruin them. But I couldn’t.” He looks up at Steve, downs the rest of his whiskey. “The best I could do was throw my clothes. But that just made it worse.” 

Steve offers the bottle, but Danny shakes his head, so Steve takes the glass and pours himself a couple fingers’ worth. He sips at it. Nods at Danny to continue, who leans back, looking up at the stars, as though he’ll tell them the next part, as though it’ll make it easier. 

Steve knows the feeling.

“But that’s the way I had to be with Rachel. That’s why... it’s like, I held it together with her, because all the tangle of it, I couldn’t share that with her, and I haven’t been able to express it—um. Even at home, it was just rage and hurt. But not the deeper feelings....” He looks back across at Steve. “That’s why I needed you—” he cuts himself off. “ _Need_  you. That’s why I asked you to stay. To start to deal with it. All of it. _The guilt_.” 

And he just knows, Danny has taken his heart out of his chest... and handed it to Steve. And he’s there. He’s all  _there_. So he gets up, and he moves in front of Danny’s chair, kneeling again at his feet, and he wraps himself around Danny. Like his life depends on it. Like his soul depends on it. As if he could keep Danny safe, hold Danny captive, hold Danny somehow apart from that guilt, that pain. Like he’s wanted to since this all started. Like he couldn’t. Not there. Not in the hospital. Not with Rachel always at his side. 

But she’s not here now, and Steve is, and that says something, he thinks.  _Wants_  it to. Needs it to.

And he doesn’t want to think about what it would mean if he’s wrong, if he’s just some kind of tension release, some method of coping for Danny. He doesn’t want to know.... And the thing is, it’s possible that Danny hasn’t figured that out yet. And it doesn’t matter, because Steve is going to do it anyway. Even if it breaks his heart.

“Where’d we go wrong, huh?” Danny asks. And Steve knows it’s starting, Danny’s beginning to let it come out. Steve just stays there, holding him, holding on. “How did we not teach her to not leave. To tell an adult, to call me. Why didn’t she call me? Why didn’t she call  _you_?”

Steve’s torn between hurt over Danny questioning his parenting, and joy that he’s being included in those same breaths. And it’s maybe as though Danny reads something in his silence, and he pulls back, and squints at Steve as though he’ll be able to work it out if he can see it right.

“What’s that look for?”

Steve stumbles over a rough breath, works to put the feeling to words. “I was just thinking about what you said about Grace and me... and her being mine in some ways... and you said ‘we,’ and that just, it just gets me, you know?”

Danny leans forward again. “I wasn’t kidding about that, Steve. She’s always loved you, always looked up to you. And I think a lot of that was because of how she connected with you.”

“I just... I’ve given up the idea I’ll have kids of my own, you know? There’s just too much... with the radiation and everything. So, I admit it. I like the idea of being something more than _Uncle_ Steve.”

“Babe.” Danny’s hand comes up to rest against Steve’s cheek. It’s such a tender gesture, such an intimate touch. “You are  _so much more_  than Uncle Steve. Can we stop kidding ourselves, please.”

And oh, there are layers there. And Steve wants to just sink into them. Let it wash over him, let himself get lost in it, lost in Danny's touch, in his eyes. Those sweet, soft, wonderful, blue eyes. But it’s too much, and he’ll lose this moment, and he can’t do that. So he goes back to Danny’s original question.

“Have you asked her that? Why she didn’t call?” 

“Not yet,” Danny admits. “I’m afraid I won’t want to hear her answer.” 

“She will have a reason, though buddy. And you gotta trust her, you know?”

And Steve knows that Danny may not like the reason, but Steve doesn’t tell him that. She’s always been eerily wise for her age, Grace has. And that’s something that’s only escalated as she’s gotten older. Steve’s pretty sure that’s supposed to go the other way, but it doesn’t. Not with her. So he’s confident she’ll have an explanation. But maybe it’ll be a him thing and not a Danny thing. And maybe that’s okay.

But that is a conversation for another time, because Danny’s started shivering. It’s surprisingly cool out. And late. So Steve stands, and holds out his hand.

“Come back to bed?” 

Danny nods.

They settle easily against each other, Steve covering Danny with as much of himself as he can. Warming him up with his own body’s heat. Wishing that might start to fill up some of the holes this has left in Danny’s heart, on his soul.

“I don’t think this is what Grace had in mind when she told me to look out for you....”

Danny chuckles. Utterly unsurprised by the admission. “Oh, I don’t know. I think probably it is.”

And that. Oh boy. Any hope Steve was still holding back from is just  _released_ , and it floods him completely. And it’s the most astounding feeling. And the best part is,  _Danny’s right there with him_. And this time, there’s no pinching. There’s no pushing. They fought that off, burned through it maybe. So what’s left is gentleness, awe. And no small dose of surprise. 

“God you’re beautiful,” Steve murmurs, as he runs his hands over Danny’s arms, his chest, wanting to dip his fingers down below the elastic of his briefs, but not ready to take that step yet. “I’ve wanted this for so long. I’d... nearly given up hope.”

Danny’s skin’s gone goosebumpy. “I know. And that’s my fault—no don’t argue, it’s absolutely my fault. You know how I get, feeling like I don’t deserve what I really want. And I am so sorry that it took  _this_ , took something so awful, for me to finally see it, finally admit it... finally  _need to take it_. And I’m sorry about... how I did it. Sorry I pushed you, sorry I forced you....”

“Danny. Hey. Hey... just stop, okay? Stop apologizing. You could never do anything to me I didn’t want, didn’t want you to take. Because anything you would ever want I would give. But don’t add any more regret to any of this alright? It’s done, we got through it, and we’re here now. And that’s what matters. Okay?”

Danny nods, mutely. Barely breathing, let alone able to use words. Steve pulls him closer, holds him tighter.

“We’ll get through the next bit too, buddy. You and me, together. Okay? It’ll make it easier. I know I’m always better when you’re next to me. And you can be too—just let me take some of this mountain you’re trying to carry by yourself. Can you share that with me? Let me help. Stop trying to do it all alone.”

Danny manages a weak laugh, and he buries his face further against Steve’s chest, his breaths coming in soft huffs, tickling Steve’s chest hairs. He still won’t speak, but Steve feels him nod, and he figures that’s better than nothing. The irony here, of Steve wanting more words from Danny, it’s like it fills his blood with some very odd sense of strength. Like maybe part of what’s held him back has been his own sense that he didn’t really deserve Danny, couldn’t possibly live up to  his own expectations, his own idea of what Danny deserves. That doesn’t seem to matter now, though. So little seems to matter in the aftermath of something like this, this near tragedy, this near loss. It’s so much easier to see what  _does_  matter. And this man in his arms... it’s all about him. Everything Steve wants, all he needs. Is Danny. And finally, he’s his.


End file.
